


The Beauty of a Secret

by dashakay



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4823441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashakay/pseuds/dashakay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beauty of a Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I have committed Halsey songfic. Specifically, [Strange Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-Jo25SL56A), the new DD/GA anthem. Yeah. I don’t even know what’s happened to me.

It’s the thirty-eighth interview of the day, maybe the seven millionth, she’s not sure anymore since they’ve all blended together in a numbing series of questions, smiles, canned answers, sips of water, and creeping exhaustion. All she knows at this point is that this is definitively the final one. She feels flayed raw by the questions, the glare of the lights, the cameras.

David is in the conference room next door and sometimes she can hear him laugh through the walls.

The last reporter is very young, artificially blonde, and much too perky for words. She does that annoying up speak thing. “So?” she asks. “Tell me about your relationship with David Duchovny? You two seem much closer than ever? Did that help when shooting the revival?”

She stifles a sigh and forces a serene smile on her face. Her cheek muscles ache from smiling. “It’s wonderful to be able to have an acting partnership with someone for so many years,” she says, choosing #3 from her personal list of talking points.

“Are you two dating?” The reporter leans forward, as if awaiting a great revelation.

Dating. Such a silly word, evoking outdated images of sock hops and ice cream sodas. She finds herself giggling. “Oh, no. No...not at all. We’re close friends now and that’s enough,” she says, once she’s able to contain the laughter.

Dating. Ha.

The reporter thanks her and finally, finally she’s done with this endless day.

*

Twenty floors up in her suite, she fills the gargantuan bathtub and shakes in the Serenity Detox bath salts the hotel provided. She pins up her hair and slides into the hot water, breathing in the supposedly detoxifying steam.

Finally, some peace. These press junkets are more tiring than ditch digging. Questions, all the endless questions, and the truths and the lies and at the end of it all sometimes she can’t remember what’s real anymore. Add jet lag and she’s almost reeling.

She hears the sound of the front door closing and she sits up a little in the tub. Housekeeping? Room service?

The bathroom door opens and he’s standing there, looking as flattened by the day as she feels. There are circles under his eyes and his five o’clock shadow looks more like ten o’clock.

She feels strangely exposed right now, naked in the lavender-colored waters of the tub while he’s fully dressed. She can feel the sweep of his eyes over her body.

“It’s over,” he says with a sigh.

“Until tomorrow,” she reminds him.

He unbuttons and strips off his black shirt, carelessly tosses it to the floor. He unzips his jeans.

“Did I say you could join me?” she asks, eyebrows arching.

“You don’t need to.”

Oh God, his smug confidence. It irritates and turns her on at the same time.

He steps into the tub and she scoots forward so he can sit behind her. His chest feels shockingly cool against her warm back. She leans against him and sighs.

His hand trails through the water. “How did it go?”

She shrugs. “The usual. Exhausting. Repetitive. Stupid.”

“A necessary evil,” he says, creating whirlpools in the water with his fingers.

She takes his right hand and guides it to her breast. She can feel his warm breath on her cheek as he strokes her nipples with soapy fingers. “That’s much better,” she says.

“I thought about this all day,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” She did some thinking, too, when she had a spare second to herself. “What did you think about?”

His voice always gets raspy, drops half an octave, when he’s properly turned on, which he definitely is since the evidence is pressing itself into her lower back. “The reporters kept asking about us,” he says.

She nods.

“And I thought about what it was like to be with you, to be inside you, and how they’d never know because I’d never tell them. That’s the beauty of a secret.”

Her mouth opens in a silent moan as his fingers steal between her legs, where she’s already so ready for him, so damn wet. Her body always gives away the things she can’t say.

“We don’t have to fucking tell them anything,” she says. This is just for them, the secret world they’ve created in the last few years.

She grinds herself against his fingers, feeling the rough grain of his cheek against hers. He knows, oh he knows just how she likes it, just how to touch her hard enough to make her shudder but also soft enough so that she’s kept hanging on the edge, so close but not quite there. Not quite, but almost. Oh yeah, almost.

And then his hand is gone and she makes a disappointed noise in the back of her throat. “What?” she manages to gasp.

“Get out the tub, Gillian,” he says.

So fucking bossy. She’s usually the one in charge of everything but when he uses that voice, all she can do is blindly obey. Somehow, she manages to get to her feet, scented water streaming down her body. She turns to look at him. Damn that man, fifty-five years old and still so infuriatingly gorgeous, arm muscles flexing as he grabs the edge of the tub to stand.

“The bedroom, then?” she says, toweling off.

“Nope.” And he presses her against the sink with a kiss that tips her head back so hard it almost hurts but she’s beyond caring. His mouth, yeah, his mouth on her, his tongue in her mouth, she’s been waiting for this all through this tedious day.

“Oh,” she sighs when they finally part. Her hand closes around his cock and squeezes. She loves how he jumps a bit when she does this to him.

“Say my name,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“What?”

He lifts her and she finds herself sitting at the edge of the bathroom countertop.

“Say my name, Gillian.” His eyes are pleading.

“Give it to me.” She doesn’t think she’ll be able to stand it another minute without him inside her.

He takes a step back. “Say it.”

She closes her eyes and exhales. “David,” she says. “David.”

Her legs wrap around his waist as he pushes himself into her excruciatingly slowly, inch by inch until his cock is all the way inside her.

“I love it when you say my name,” he whispers in her ear and starts thrusting, still much too slowly.

“Say mine,” she says, her hands gripping the counter so hard she worries she might break a finger, or at least a fingernail.

“Scully,” he says and she laughs, swats at his arm.

He pulls back until he’s almost completely out of her. “Gillian,” he rasps and drives into her so hard she’s afraid they’re going to break the countertop and cause some kind of international incident.

“Gillian,” he repeats, looking straight into her eyes in that way he has where she’s sure he can see everything, can read her thoughts, knows every secret buried deep in her subconscious.

That’s it—she’s lost, she’s gone, Gillian isn’t here, can I take a message, please? Her whole body gives in to the tremors coursing through her nerves and for a blessed moment, her mind goes blank and quiet.

When she opens her eyes, he’s smiling at her as if he’s been given an incredible gift. The grip of his hands on her hips tightens and he seems to lose any semblance of control. She watches as he tips his head back, his mouth open, his breath coming in rapid pants.

So here’s her secret, the one she’ll barely admit to herself, let alone him—she loves this man. She fought it for nearly two decades and probably will keep fighting it for another two, but she loves him and will never tell him. She knows the day will come when he calls her from thousands of miles away and tells her he met someone and it’s serious, he’s in love and so happy, and it’s not with her. She knows it’s just a matter of time. This is her secret and she’ll never tell him, never.

She feels very far away as she watches him come, his body bucking into hers, his moans sharp and inhuman.

That’s the beauty of a secret. You know you’re supposed to keep it.

He stills and she kisses his forehead, his cheeks, the damp and prickly skin where his jaw meets his neck.

“What you do to me,” he whispers.

She wraps her arms around his neck and nods. So sentimental in her middle age, she thinks. Even though the bathroom is warm and full of steam from the tub, she shivers.

He helps her down from the countertop and she’s on solid ground again. Her legs shake, just a little.

“Close your eyes,” he says, gently.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

She steps away from the counter and feels her eyes shut. All she can hear is something squeaking.

“Okay, open them.”

His hands turn her toward the mirror. A message written in the fog on the surface, a message for her.

DD + GA = 4 EVA

She laughs. He’s not the only one who’s gone sentimental in their encroaching old age.

As he kisses her, she thinks about her secret, about how deeply buried it is beneath archaeological layers of history, arguments, infidelities, other lovers, other spouses, and miles and miles and miles apart.

That’s the beauty of a secret. You know you’re supposed to keep it.

She’ll keep her secret forever.

That’s the beauty of a secret.

That’s the tragedy of a secret.

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics of Halsey's "Strange Love" for reference:
> 
> Everybody wants to know  
> If we fucked on the bathroom sink  
> How your hands felt in my hair  
> If we were high on amphetamines
> 
> And everybody wants to hear  
> How we chainsmoked until three  
> And how you laughed when you said my name  
> And how you gripped my hips so mean
> 
> We wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night  
> But the ending is the same every damn time, no, no, no  
> We wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night  
> But the ending is the same every damn time
> 
> They think I'm insane, they think my lover is strange  
> But I don't have to fucking tell them anything, anything  
> And I'm gonna write it all down, and I'm gonna sing it on stage  
> But I don't have to fucking tell you anything, anything
> 
> That's the beauty of a secret  
> You know you're supposed to keep it  
> That's the beauty of a secret  
> That's the beauty of a secret  
> You know you're supposed to keep it  
> But I don't have to fucking tell you anything
> 
> Everybody's waiting up to hear if I dare speak your name  
> Put it deep beneath the track, like the hole you left in me  
> And everybody wants to know 'bout how it felt to hear you scream  
> They know you walk like you're a god, they can't believe I made you weak
> 
> We wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night  
> But the ending is the same every damn time, no, no, no  
> We wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night  
> But the ending is the same every damn time
> 
> They think I'm insane, they think my lover is strange  
> But I don't have to fucking tell them anything, anything  
> And I'm gonna write it all down, and I'm gonna sing it on stage  
> But I don't have to fucking tell you anything, anything
> 
> That's the beauty of a secret  
> You know you're supposed to keep it  
> That's the beauty of a secret  
> That's the beauty of a secret  
> You know you're supposed to keep it  
> But I don't have to fucking tell you anything
> 
> These days I can't seem to get along with anyone  
> Get by with anyone  
> These days I can't seem to make this right  
> Well, is this fine? Will it be alright?
> 
> They think I'm insane, they think my lover is strange  
> But I don't have to fucking tell them anything, anything  
> And I'm gonna write it all down, and I'm gonna sing it on stage  
> But I don't have to fucking tell you anything, anything
> 
> That's the beauty of a secret  
> You know you're supposed to keep it  
> That's the beauty of a secret  
> That's the beauty of a secret  
> You know you're supposed to keep it  
> But I don't have to fucking tell you anything


End file.
